Time
by NairobiWonders
Summary: Joan and Sherlock try to work together after his 8 month absence but their partnership is not what it once was. Post season two - spoilers if you haven't seen the previews - previously published on tumblr
1. Chapter 1

Another wad of paper hit the back of his head. The area around the hearth was littered with similar objects. Sherlock shook his head, picked up the paper, turned and hurled it back at her.

"I never realized just how immature of a woman you truly are." He bent his head and continued studying the documents strewn in a semi-circle on the floor around him.

From the sofa, Joan snorted "Yeah. I'm the immature one." She talked while crunching yet another sheet of yellow notepaper between her hands, "This case makes absolutely no sense." She pitched the paper ball and hit him hard between the shoulders.

He flinched. "Watson, I swear, if you hurl one more object at me, I'll …"

"You'll what? ….Leave?" Watson stared dead-eyed at him. He looked down at his hands and took his punishment. This behavior was so unlike her, he was unsure how to respond.

Contrary to his nature, he had recently initiated dialog between them about their problems. They had talked until they were blue in the face about all of it, the break up, the lack of trust, the resentment, Mycroft, Kitty, Andrew, even Clyde and the roosters, every inch of their problems were dissected and studied and discussed between them and still they ended up here where they started. She was angry, hurt and distrustful of him. And he understood why and took all the punishment she handed him - silences, cutting comments, and now throwing things at him. But it was not helping the situation between them. In fact, things had gotten worse since they were forced to work together by Gregson.

"Perhaps this is something that can't be repaired," he spoke softly, not looking at her. His comment was met by silence. He hazarded a glance at her. She sat on the sofa, legs tucked under her. The rigidity of her pose his only signal of her emotional state.

He sat cross legged on the floor, his body now facing her. "Watson?" he tried to get her to respond.

She would not meet his gaze, choosing to look blankly out the front window rather than at him.

His frustration level rose, "This is all your fault, you know. You made your choices early on. You kept me at arms length since day one. You left first."

Joan turned her head, her anger barely in control. "This again? How many times must I tell you. I was not leaving you or the partnership. I merely needed space, time, room to think. I needed to find who I am, who I wanted to be."

"Rhetorical nonsense. You were leaving me, period. And besides, that's not what I meant. ….You have this way about you - you keep everything to yourself. You didn't share with me the story of your patient's death until a good year and a half after we met. While you learned everything about me from boyhood injuries to the details of my romantic failures …. Why is that? Why are you so closed off? Is it just with me? Just with men? Is this why you and Andrew split? Hmm?" Sherlock had never been so direct and invasive with her. He was breathing fast and physically registering fear.

"This is absurd." Her voice sharp and controlled. Joan took the stack of documents from her lap and carefully placed them back in their folder. "You are making accusations to save yourself the embarrassment of admitting your mistakes."

"Oh, I've fully admitted what a foul and horrible friend I have been to you and I am willing to do my penance. But I am not willing to lose you." He tilted his head down for a second, staring at the floor and then lifted his eyes to meet her face.

The expression on her face was one of sadness and resignation. "This is something that will take more than words and penance to fix." Joan broke free of Sherlock's gaze, stood and gathered her sweater and files.

Joan turned and left the brownstone.


	2. Chapter 2

"Let go! This is obviously too heavy for you! Just let me ..."

"No! It is not too heavy. Let go, Sherlock."

"Fine. Be an idiot. Hurt yourself." He took his hand away momentarily but quickly brought it back the minute he saw her begin to buckle under the weight. "I'm sorry I cannot watch you hurt yourself ..." He grabbed and pulled the suitcase out of Joan's hand.

"I don't need your help! If you want to help someone, go find your protégé."

Sherlock threw the suitcase down at her feet. "There! It's all yours then." He was seething. Joan looked at him with a smirk and waited for him to walk away. He didn't. He stood and stared her down. "Go ahead. Show me how you don't need me." He waited.

Her face was flush with rage. Joan had had enough. "Marcus?" she called over her shoulder. Detective Bell was a few yards away talking to uniformed officer. He looked up. Joan called out to him, "Can I have one of your officers take this suitcase down to the precinct?"

Marcus looked at her and then at Sherlock, nodded his head yes at her and sent one of his men over. Joan and Sherlock had been at each other's throats for days and it seemed to be getting worse.

The supercilious look of hers as the officer carried off the suitcase was too much for Sherlock to take. He took her by the wrist, "Come on, we are going to have this out right now." He pulled at her to follow.

"What do you think you're doing? Let go of me!" Joan was not going anywhere with him.

"We can have a screaming match in front of the detective and his officers or we can be professionals about this and move down the street aways so this stays between us. Which will it be?" His speech was clipped and full of anger.

She thought about it for a second. She saw the look in his eye and knew he would not back down from this. "Fine. Let's go. Just let go of my wrist." They started walking away from the crime scene. Marcus watched them. He'd been to enough domestic calls to know how volatile couples with personal problems could get and he didn't want to see either of them get hurt. Truth be told, he was more concerned for Sherlock's safety. Sherlock cared too much about Joan to ever lay a hand on her. Joan on the other hand, he wasn't sure about.

They walked several yards away from the crime scene down a tree-lined sidewalk. They stopped, stood and stared at each other.

"Now what?" Joan folded her arms defensively in front of her.

Sherlock looked at her and then looked back up the street as he spoke. "This cannot continue. We can't seem to work together without anger and bickering. And short of us not working cases together, I don't know what else to do. I even talked to Ms. Hudson hoping she could share some insight ..."

"She wasn't much help was she?" Joan looked down at her shoes as she spoke.

"You spoke to her too?" He was surprised she had made an effort to find help.

"Yes. She told me 'time,' give it time."

Sherlock grimaced, "Yes. Same here. She said we should spend more time together. I told her if we did, one of us would end up dead."

"So what do we do?"

"Well, for starters, you could try to be civil..."

Joan scoffed, "Me? I am as professional with you as you are with me ..."

"That is not really saying much, is it? I've always been curt and rude."

"Not all the time. And not with me."

Her tone caught him off guard. She sounded small and hurt and as quickly as the wall had come down it was thrown back up again. Her features hardened once more under his scrutiny. She raised her voice, "This is a total waste of time. You're right. I don't think we can work together any longer. You will never change ..."

"Change! Change?" His voice got louder as he talked over her. "I..." He pointed to himself in frustration, "I, Sherlock Holmes, begged... begged you to stay ... I have never begged anyone, for anything, ever! I told you I would change for you, do whatever it took and you ..."

She got even louder, as she moved into his space, "And I told you how much having you as a mentor and friend meant to me and what ... WHAT did you do! You disappeared, left without so much as a word..."

They were in each other's faces, yelling. Marcus kept an eye on them as he finished up at the crime scene.

Sherlock railed, "No, YOU, you were leaving. I heard you on the phone. YOU were leaving ME!" His face was red and contorted with rage at the memory, "You are just angry because I left first!"

"For the millionth time Sherlock, I was not leaving you! I was leaving the brownstone! There is a difference. I was in shock from the abduction, ..." She lowered her voice and hissed at him, "Mycroft had just dropped his little bombshell, and what did you do? You left! You left rather than being there to support me." Her words were whispered in rage.

"HOW DO YOU SUPPORT SOMEONE WHO WILL NOT TALK TO YOU!" his voice boomed loud enough that Marcus and several officers turned towards them. Sherlock stepped back, covered his face with both hands and rubbed it in frustration.

Joan stood momentarily in stunned silence. Her voice regained her cool control "...by being there for them, until they trust you enough to open up."

Sherlock stared into her eyes, seeing the distress behind the coolness of her attitude, his tone dropped as well. "I'm sorry." Joan looked away, the intensity of his gaze was painful.

His voice was soft but precise, "I know I was wrong, I understand how horribly I hurt you. I've admitted it several times. I've apologized. But you need to admit your part in all of this." Her eyes shot up at his as he continued, "I had no idea how you felt until you announced you were leaving. We'd been living together for almost two years, working together, and yet you never said a word ..."

"I can't alright. I can't just ... I can't bare my soul for just anybody... I can't..."

Sherlock was hurt, "Am I just anybody?"

She didn't answer. Tears were beginning to fill her eyes.

"It's alright, Watson. I understand. I seem to have foolishly misunderstood the nature of our relationship. I'll inform the Captain that we will no longer consult together on cases." He gave her the false smile he reserved for strangers and serial killers, turned and quickly walked back towards the crime scene.


	3. Chapter 3

Joan gave up pounding on the brownstone's front door and took out her key, the one she had kept in reserve for such an occasion. Her hand shook as she removed the key and opened the door. Gregson had temporarily pulled both of them off all cases until, "they got their act together." Sherlock had not been seen or heard from in over a week.

Joan spent the better part of the day and evening texting and calling him but received no response. Technically, she and Sherlock were not on speaking terms but she knew him. If she texted him and said 'I need to speak to you," his response would be immediate. He didn't respond and she panicked.

She walked in and called his name. No answer. The light was on in the library and as she turned she saw him, sprawled out on the floor, flat on his face.

"No, no, no, no..." She rushed over to where he lay, fearing the worst.

Joan took him by the shoulders and gingerly turned him over. Startled out of a deep sleep, Sherlock flailed and grabbed at her, latching on to her coat. He blinked and tried to focus, "Watson?" He looked utterly confused.

"Thank god, you're okay." She closed her eyes in relief.

Still half asleep, he tried to make sense of the situation, "Huh? ...Watson, what's going on? ... Are you alright?" He let go of her coat and peered at her, examining her, "What's wrong?"

Joan put on her "I'm fine" face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I was afraid you'd ..." She swallowed hard and shook her head to dispel the thought. "I've been calling and texting ... You never answered."

He looked confused, "What time is it?"

"Three in the morning ..." she looked apologetic.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the heels of his palms. "Perhaps I should ask what day as well." He yawned. "I've not slept for three or four days. I must have crashed. ...you know how I get when I'm working," he gave tilt of the head to the work scattered around him.

She nodded, "I should let you get some rest then," and moved to get up.

He quickly stopped her movement with a question, "Why were you calling? Everything alright?"

She hesitated, "...I thought we could talk. This situation between us has gotten out of hand ... It doesn't matter now. We can talk some other time. Get some rest."

She moved again to get up and this time he stopped her by simply putting his hand on her arm and then just as quickly removing it. "Stay ... Please? We don't have to talk."

They sat immobile, eyes cast on where his hand had rested on her arm, unsure of what to do or say.

He broke the silence first. "I could use your help on this case. A private client, rather intriguing case of identity theft ... Well not theft so much as identity renting. Each victim always ends up the richer for the use of his ID ..." Sherlock handed her a file and saw the spark of interest ignite in her.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

The morning sun filtering in through the front windows found both on the floor surrounded by spreadsheets, arguing the merits of their theories to each other.

"See..." Sherlock pointed to date entries "here, here and here, the same sum is deposited to three different victims by the other three victims. It's almost a pyramid scheme except the identities are shifted ..." He sensed her staring at him and stopped. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Joan set her eyes back on to the spreadsheet. "I've just missed this. ..."

Sherlock, afraid of saying anything lest it start an argument, nodded his agreement and let her talk.

She took a moment and continued, looking at the paper in front of her as she spoke. "You know, I figured out why we are better together ... we fill in the gaps for each other. I see what you don't and vice versa. We fit like cogs in a great machine ..." Joan raised her head. Their eyes met and stayed fixed on each other until the intensity of it forced both of them to look away.

When she spoke again, her words were whispered. "You aren't just anybody to me, you know that, right?"

His hand found the edge of her sleeve and momentarily rested there, before moving to cover his hand with hers. His fingers fit between hers and she held on.

"We are both going to have to work at rebuilding trust ..." She spoke staring at his hand on hers. Joan flicked her eyes up to catch a glimpse of his, then both in embarrassment looked away.

Sherlock cleared his throat, "Understood ..."

They sat there for a minute or so more, holding on in silence, not quite ready to break the moment.

Joan suddenly pulled her hand out from under his, "Sherlock, look at this." She grabbed the spreadsheet she had been staring at. "Look at these bank entries."

The excitement in her voice pulled him in and he scanned the column. "Good job Watson! I may have to pay you a consultant's fee for that." He happily took the paper and stood. "Come, take a look at the records on the desk while I make us breakfast. I don't remember the last time I ate."

She scrambled up and followed, "If you make me an omelet, I'll forego the consultant's fee."

He called out over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs, "Done. Remind me not to let you negotiate fee agreements."


End file.
